Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2019
Nobody's sure anymore about what we felt sure of before we weren't sure and I am not sure anyway.

But
we built our houses from straw
spit and sawdusted the floor
what were we waiting for?
absolution?

absolutely?
well
Pan played the pipes like a flute
he
was a ram of a man,
are you sure of me now?
John Edward Smallshaw
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw  68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)   
127
     Terry Collett and Rich Hues
Please log in to view and add comments on poems